


Roman Feast

by KT418, LB714



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Male Slash, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 15:57:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KT418/pseuds/KT418, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LB714/pseuds/LB714
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Roman invites Peter over for dinner, he has more than just food in mind. But can Roman keep his hands off Peter?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roman Feast

**Author's Note:**

> We do not own these characters. We simply borrowed them and will return them unharmed (and sated) to their owners.

_Tonight, dear reader, Roman has invited the Gypsy boy for dinner. Mother has gone off for the night on one of her shopping excursions out of town, leaving Roman and me to fend for ourselves. As I write this, Roman is supervising Cook in the kitchen, and even from the attic the aromas of the feast she is preparing taunt my senses. Roman has gone to a great deal of trouble—he does not know that I am aware of it, but he has grown quite fond of Peter. I can see it in the way his normally darkened eyes light up when Peter is present, in the way his back straightens. I can see it in Peter, too. He lets his guard down around Roman._

_I do hope this dinner party is a success. I shall observe them silently and will smile with glee_.

S.G.

******

Roman checks Cook's work again and finds it to his satisfaction. He wants this night to be perfect. He knows that Lynda does her best, but he's always wanted to give Peter a really good meal.

******

Peter makes the long trek through the woods and to the road leading up the hill to Roman's house on foot. It gives him a chance to think—about tonight, about Roman, about having what feels like a date.

As he approaches the mansion, he's once again struck by not just its size but its seclusion. Roman grew up here, alone in this enormous but isolated house, and now Peter is being invited as a guest, something he never dreamed would happen to a poor Gypsy boy like him.

******

Everything is ready. Cook has been told to forget about everything. All Roman needs now is Peter.

******

Peter stands in front of the door and hesitates like a boy on a first date. Silently he berates himself. This is Roman, after all, his friend. It's not as though this is the first time they've been together. Rolling his eyes, he knocks.

Roman smooths his jacket and opens the door. "Hey, you."

Flashing a quick, awkward smile, Peter looks beyond Roman. "Did your mom leave?"

"Yeah, she took off on her broom about an hour ago."

Barely suppressing a smile, Peter pushes past Roman and enters the mansion. No matter how many times he's been here, Peter takes it all in. He can't imagine growing up in a place like this, as he turns to Roman, his six-four frame dressed in an expensive black suit.

"This is going to be awesome. I really dug into the wine cellar."

"You know I'm fine with beer," says Peter, glancing around.

"Not tonight you're not."

Peter can't help but grin. He's never been wined and dined, literally, and he's looking forward to seeing how the other half lives. "In that case, I'm all yours."

Roman grabs Peter's waist and pulls him close. "I know."

Peter looks into Roman's eyes for a moment, then with a sly smile pries loose. "Later, baby. You promised me dinner."

"You getting feisty on me?"

"You're getting frisky. In front of mixed company." He gestures with his eyes to Shelley, who has just descended the grand staircase.

Shelley beams down at the boys. "Welcome, Peter," she types into her iPhone

Peter offers an exaggerated bow and moves to take Shelley's arm. "Master Godfrey," he says to Roman with a fake English accent, “lead the way."

Roman snorts. "You sound like my mother."

"Yeah?" Peter straightens. "Then go to your room."

"I'm scared," Roman deadpans as Shelley giggles.

"Fuck you. Let's eat."

"Hey, watch the fucking language in front of my sister."

"Nice example you're setting." Peter turns his face to Shelley and rolls his eyes.

"I have become accustomed to it," Shelley notes as they reach the table.

"I guess you'd have to be to put up with him." Peter pulls a chair out for Shelley, and then takes in the scene. It's the biggest dining room he's ever seen, with a table that looks like it stretches a mile. He whistles. "All this for the three of you?"

"Grandfather and great-grandfather entertained," Shelley explains.

"Mother likes to show off," Roman contradicts.

"What about you?" Peter asks Roman.

"Oh, I never show off. Ever."

"I sensed that about you when we met. The flashy car didn't fool me." Peter winks at Shelley as he says this, and Shelley suppresses a giggle.

"I gotta get around somehow."

"I don't think getting around is something you need to worry about," says Peter, taking a seat opposite Shelley and leaving the head of the table for Roman.

Roman looks at his companions in satisfaction. Two of his favorite people, great dinner, great wines. "Ready for the first course?"

"First course?" Peter scratches his beard and looks curiously from Roman to Shelley and back again. "There's more than one?"

"I have so much to teach you," Roman says, shaking his head.

Peter rolls his eyes. "Fine, teach away," he says, spreading his arms.

Roman picks up the bottle of wine that was left out to breathe and pours. "Try that."

Peter picks up the glass and in an exaggerated gesture, holds it up to Shelley and then to Roman, says a toast in Romanian, and takes a big gulp. "Yep," he says, "that's fucking fantastic."

"That's exactly what they said in _Wine Enthusiast_."

"What's that?"

"It's a magazine that reviews wine." With anyone else, Roman would be condescending about this lack of knowledge. But Peter is so honest about it that Roman has to respect him for it.

"Oh," Peter says, not at all embarrassed. He didn't grow up in this lifestyle, and Roman's intelligence is one of the qualities about him that Peter finds so attractive. They're so different, yet strangely connected. "Well, it's really good." He smiles, then finishes the glass.

Roman lounges in his chair and rings a bell to signal the cook that they're ready for the first course.

"A bell? Really?" Peter says, snorting.

"I wanted to give you the full experience."

"So this is what it's like to be a Godfrey?" The cook has entered the room with a cart and begins placing bowls of soup in front of Shelley, then Roman, and finally Peter, who has to move his elbows from the table in order for the cook to reach his plate. He mutters a thank you, then looks at Roman and Shelley.

Roman picks up his spoon and waggles it at Peter. "This is _exactly_ what it's like to be a Godfrey."

Peter takes the cue from Roman and selects from the many utensils in front of him a spoon the same size and shape as the one Roman is holding. He holds it up and raises his eyebrows for approval.

Roman is again struck by Peter's honesty. Most people try to cover when they don't know something. Peter doesn't. If he doesn't know, he asks. "Right," he says gently.

Peter nods, then flashes a reassuring smile at Shelley, who blushes blue. He slouches over the bowl of soup, then dips in his spoon and takes a sip. Feeling that eyes are watching him, he looks up and swallows. "Wow, this is really good," he says, surprised at how much he's enjoying this.

Roman relaxes imperceptibly. He really does want Peter to enjoy this; it's not about showing off. He covers by joking. "Thank goodness! I _slaved_ over this menu for _days_!"

"You mean you slaved over your cook for days." Peter gulps one spoonful after another of the savory soup, and when he reaches the bottom of the bowl he's temped to lift it to his mouth and lick every drop, but he has a feeling what passes for normal in the Rumancek house might not fly in the Godfrey's.

"There's more. You should bring some home to your mother," Shelley types out shyly.

"Um, thanks," Peter replies. He's never been comfortable taking anything from anyone outside the family, but he knows that Shelley means well. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that his mother would rather starve than take anything from the Godfreys.

"I think you need more wine," Roman observes and fills Peter's glass.

Peter accepts it gratefully. He's going to need a lot of this if he's going to loosen up enough to enjoy this.

Roman can see that Peter is uncomfortable, even if he's enjoying the food. If they were alone, he'd know how to handle it. Kissing would be involved; tickling, too, maybe. But with Shelley here, Roman is uncertain. Finally he reaches out with one long leg and nudges Peter's foot.

When Roman's foot brushes Peter's he twitches and shoots Roman a look. Not in front of your sister, he thinks, but he doesn't move his foot. He takes a long drink from his wine glass to calm his nerves. "What's next?" he asks, to break the silence.

"Relax, it isn't a race." Roman pushes the hem of Peter's jeans up and rubs his toes up and down Peter's ankle.

Peter runs a hand through his hair, but he still doesn't move his leg. His other leg begins bouncing. He notices that Shelley has finished her soup, too. Good, they can get on to the next course so Peter will not have to think about Roman's foot. Or his leg. Or what's between his legs. "I'm relaxed," he says. "Just hungry."

Roman grins at Peter and rings for Cook to clear the soup bowls. Then, he licks his lips before taking a long, slow sip of his wine, keeping eye contact with Peter throughout.

Peter returns the gaze, but conscious of Shelley's presence, breaks the contact before it goes further. Fortunately, the cook returns with the next course and places the small plates of food on the table. Peter stares at his plate, then looks up at Roman and Shelley again.

"Cappellini with lobster," Shelley types. "I think you will like it."

"I trust you," Peter says with a grin, then gestures with his thumb at Roman. "Him, not so sure about."

"You're a smart fellow, Peter," Shelley taps out.

"Is that any way to talk about your beloved big brother?" Roman demands in mock indignation.

Peter begins to relax. The banter makes him feel as though this is a perfectly normal way for friends to spend an evening. But then he looks down at his plate and is reminded that this is anything but normal, at least for him. Again, the number and sizes of the utensils on either side of the plate taunt him, and he waits to see which one Roman will use.

Shelley types into her phone but without using the voice. Instead, she angles it toward Peter without Roman even noticing. "Start with the outermost and work inward."

Roman is busy topping off the glasses, so when Peter sees Shelley's secret message he flashes her a secret smile and winks. Shelley smiles back.

Peter lifts his wine glass and says to Roman, "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Of course," Roman smirks. "Try your pasta."

Never having been taught proper table manners, Peter shovels a forkful of the perfectly cooked pasta along with a chunk of the lobster into his mouth. This isn’t the first time he's had lobster. Once, he and Lynda had found themselves in Maine, but the lobster he'd eaten at some hole-in-the-wall was nothing compared to the delicacy in his mouth. His mouth makes yummy noises as he chews, letting Roman and Shelley know just what he thinks of this dish.

Roman’s gratified to see Peter enjoying this. And to see his willingness to try anything Roman puts in front of him. Peter may not be polished, but he's certainly appreciative.

Peter shows his appreciation by gobbling every last morsel on the plate, using his fingers to push the bits and pieces of pasta and lobster onto the small fork and then licking his fingers noisily so that not a crumb is wasted. Remembering that he is not alone, Peter stops what he's doing, picks up his neglected napkin and mutters, "Sorry."

Wishing he could be the one licking Peter's fingers, Roman smiles and says, "Don't worry about it."

"It was fucking great."

"I'll pass your compliments along to Cook."

Peter wants to tell Roman that he doesn't have to ply him  with food, that he will give himself over willingly, but he has to admit: he's really enjoying this, seeing how the other half lives for just one night.

"You do that," Peter says, leaning back in his chair and waiting for the others to finish, never taking his eyes off Roman. He likes watching him eat. Roman chews slowly, with purpose, knowing that he's in command.

Peter is actually starting to look relaxed. Shelley is enjoying both the food and the conversation. It's already a win as far as Roman is concerned, and, as he reaches for his wine glass again, he smiles at them both. If there's heat in his eyes when he looks at Peter, well, that's between Peter and him.

Soon the cook returns to clear the plates once again, but this time when she returns, she brings small long-stemmed glasses containing a scoop of what looks like ice cream.

"Great, dessert," announces Peter, searching for the correct spoon.

Quickly, Shelley types, "It's sorbet. It cleans the palate."

Peter points to his glass, narrows his eyes, and says to Roman, "So it's not dessert?"

"We're nowhere _near_ dessert."

Peter raises his eyebrows. The two courses he'd just scarfed down were more food than he's ever eaten in one meal. He wonders what he'll have to do to thank Roman for this, and the ideas that come to mind are not unpleasant.

"I think you'll like the next course," Roman says, picking up his spoon.

"I like everything I've had so far," Peter says pointedly to Roman. Following his friend's lead, Peter picks up his matching spoon and digs in. He's never had dessert in the middle of a meal before, even if this isn't dessert. It takes likes dessert, sweet and creamy.

Just as pointedly, Roman licks his spoon. He wants to make Peter squirm, just a little.

The gesture works. Peter clears his throat and coughs. His eyes dart over to Shelley, and then back at Roman. Not now, he projects to Roman.

Roman grins and licks his spoon again.

Peter glares at Roman. It's suddenly become hot in the room, and Peter wishes he had another scoop of the sorbet to throw down his shirt.

Roman chooses this moment to back off. Just to keep Peter off balance. He sits back in his chair, stretches his long legs, and rings for Cook to clear.

Peter places his hands on the table, palms down, in a defensive gesture. Roman is playing with him, but he's not biting. Not just yet.

Soon, the cook returns with yet more food: a big porterhouse steak for each of them, and bowls of potatoes, carrots, and asparagus. Not as elaborate a meal as the lady of the house usually orders, but Cook is certain the guest will enjoy it.

Peter stares at the size of the meat on his plate. He can't believe it's all for him, but when he glances up at Shelley and Roman, they too have enormous steaks on their plates. Peter's is cooked just the way he likes it—blood dripping onto the plate. He narrows his eyes at Roman and flashes a sly grin that says, It's working.

"I told you you'd like this course."

Sawing off a huge hunk of the steak and popping it in his mouth, Peter chews voraciously, as though he hasn't eaten in days. "This is the best fucking steak I've ever had," he moans, eyes closed, as though he just had an orgasm.

Roman knows that expression well, and he's secretly delighted with himself.

Soon Peter is digging into the vegetables as well, eating as though he will never eat another meal like this again. He's actually relieved to have Shelley at the table, for at her size she seems to have the same appetite. Once or twice he catches Roman smirking, not at Peter's table manners, but more like he's pleased to be able to provide for Peter, and for that Peter is grateful.

Roman looks over at his sister. "I think he was hungry."

"Fuck you," Peter says, popping the last bite of steak into his mouth.

"I am glad you enjoyed it," types Shelley.

"Shelley is a gracious hostess," Roman says fondly.

Peter sits back in his chair, sated. "She is at that," he says through half-lidded eyes, then flashes her a quick smile.

Shelley blushes. "I am going to my room now," she types.

Surprised, Peter leans forward. "Leaving so soon?"

"I have things to do." She waves and heads out of the dining room and up the stairs.

"Alone at last," Roman says with a leer.

"Shhh," Peter says, closing his eyes. "I want to enjoy this moment."

While Peter's eyes are closed, Cook slips in and deposits dessert—an elaborate hot fudge sundae—in front of him.

Peter's eyes pop open as soon as the cook leaves the room. "What the fuck?" he exclaims. "There's more?"

"It's not dinner without dessert. Although I could probably think of several better uses for that whipped cream."

Spreading his legs, Peter leans back again. He dips a finger into the whipped cream and licks it slowly. "Like what?" he asks when he's finished.

"Like that."

"What if I don't want to?" Peter teases, taking another swipe at the fluffy cream and flicking his tongue at his finger.

"You want to. You want me."

"Maybe I do and maybe I don't. Maybe I want to wait."

"Wait? You want me to put a ring on it?"

"Shee-it. You rush things."

"When have I ever rushed things?"

Peter shoots Roman a look. "All I'm saying is, some things take time. They're better that way."

"Prove it."

"I'm not the one who can't wait for things, baby."

"I can. I just don't like to."

"I bet you can't. You probably never had to wait for anything in your life."

"Godfreys don't wait."

"See what I mean? No patience." Peter dips his finger in the sundae and comes out with a glob of vanilla ice cream. He moves the finger toward Roman, but at the last minute pops it into his own mouth.

"Tease."

Peter shrugs. "Told you you couldn't wait. You can't keep your hands off me, can you?"

"I'm sitting here keeping my hands to myself, aren't I?" Roman may be sitting but he's also fidgeting and his knee is bouncing.

Glancing under the table, Peter makes a face. "But for how long? I bet you can't keep your hands to yourself for five minutes."

"What do I get if I win?"

Peter turns his eyes up to the ceiling and pretends to contemplate for a few seconds. Then he looks back at Roman and says simply, "I'll let you fuck me on this table."

"What do you get if _you_ win?"

"I'll let you fuck me on this table. And you let me drive your car for a week."

"Done." Roman holds out his hand to shake.

"That car better have a full tank," Peter says, taking the hand and rising.

Roman rolls his eyes expressively. ''So, how are we going to test this theory of yours?"

"Oh, it's not a theory. It's a fact." Peter takes the ice cream sundae and struts toward the opposite end of the table.

"You're making my job awfully easy."

Peter flops down in the ornate armchair at the foot of the table. "I think you'll find it's going to be very hard."

"It's always hard around you, darlin'."

Pointing a finger at Roman, Peter exclaims, " _That's_ what I'm talking about. It's all you think about."

"We're seventeen, dude. It's all any of us think about."

"The difference is, I can wait for it. Can you?"

"If you can, I can."

"We'll see about that." Peter glances over at the old-fashioned clock on the mantle to his left. "Five minutes, starting now." He settles back in his chair, taking another finger full of the now melting ice cream and licking it off.

"Is that all you've got?"

Peter doesn't say anything, just smiles. Then he peels off the brown suede vest he had thrown on over his striped button-down and tosses it to the floor. Slowly, he begins unbuttoning the shirt, revealing inches of a skin at a time.

Roman examines his manicure. "Nothing I haven't seen before."

Peter lets his shirt fall open and flicks open the button of his jeans. "Yep, waiting can be a drag. What can I do to pass the time?" He snaps his fingers. "I got it." He slides the zipper down and slips his hand inside.

Roman squirms in his chair a little but feigns nonchalance. "Oh, good. My own porno."

Sliding down in the chair just a little, Peter grabs hold of his cock and pulls it out so Roman can watch it becoming hard in his hand. "Oh Roman," he teases, his voice getting high. "Look what I found."

Glancing at the clock, Roman shifts again and licks his lips. "Wow, you _can_ find your dick with both hands."

Peter holds up one hand and begins to stroke with the other. "Look, ma, one hand!"

"Very impressive." Roman rises, then forces himself to sit back down.

Peter can tell that Roman is fighting the urge to pounce, so he pushes against the table with his foot, causing the chair to slide back a little and give Roman a better view. "Two minutes," he says, his voice growing husky. "Not bad."

Roman leans his chair back on two legs, stretching his longs legs and rubbing his slender hand over his own crotch.

"What's the matter, Roman?" Peter says coyly. "Can't touch me so you have to touch yourself?" He glances at the clock again. Two minutes, thirty seconds to go.

 "I was getting bored over here."

 "Told you you have no patience." Keeping one hand on his cock, Peter slaps the table with his other hand. "Yep, this is one solid table."

 "And . . .?"

 "Can hold a lot of weight."

 Gracefully, Roman swings himself up onto the table's surface. "Like this?"

 Peter makes a face, as though he's bored. "Something like that. But with a little more force. The kind of force when one body is pounding another."

 Roman pulls himself up till he's completely on the table. "I can't pound you from way over here."

 "No one's saying you have to stay all the way over there."

 "I don't want to break any rules," Roman says, and he crawls a foot or two down the table.

 One minute to go. "It's up to you, Roman. Can you wait for this?" Peter shifts so that Roman has a clear view of Peter's arousal.

 Sinuously, Roman crawls a little closer.

 Peter sits up. He's never seen Roman behave so cat-like, and it stirs something primal inside him. "Careful," he warns, glancing at the clock. Fifty seconds.

 "Careful is for wimps," Roman purrs, sliding closer.

 Forty-five. Peter swallows, unable to take his eyes away from Roman, whose long body slinks toward him. Without thinking about it, Peter licks his lips.

 Roman gets to the very edge of the table and leans out, lightly kissing Peter's lips.

 Peter closes his eyes and sighs into the kiss. When he opens them, he whispers, "You lose."

 "I win. You only said I had to keep my hands to myself. And these," Roman kisses Peter again, lightly, "these are not hands."

 Leave it to a Godfrey to find a loophole, thinks Peter, as he gives himself over to Roman, reaching up and clasping him by the back of the neck and pulling him closer, kissing him more passionately.

 Roman pulls out of the kiss. "Come up here. Or else I'm going to fall off and take you with me. It will not be fucking pretty."

 "Whatever you say," says Peter. "You won, after, all." Smiling Peter puts his hands on either side of Roman and heaves himself up onto the glossy wood table. Face to face with Roman, he crawls forward, forcing Roman to back up a little.

 Roman glides backward like a dancer following a lead. "Wouldn't you say we both kinda won? I'll even still let you drive my car. A little."

"So generous," purrs Peter. His body is now completely on the table. "Fair is fair, though, so claim your prize."

Roman leans in again and kisses Peter slowly and deeply while easing him down onto the table's polished surface.

As Roman rolls on top of him, Peter returns the kiss eagerly. As much as he enjoyed the dinner, he's enjoying this much more.

Peter, Roman observes, is still partially erect from his earlier activities, and he won't need much coaxing to be hard again. Roman reaches eagerly into those attractively gaping pants.

Peter moans as Roman's hand encircles his heat. His foot kicks out reflexively, sending the hot fudge sundae crashing to the floor. "Sorry," he mutters, smiling as sweetly as he can.

"You'll have to blow me for that."

With a low growl, Peter grips Roman's waist and flips him onto his back, then kisses him hard. "I guess dinner's not over yet," he says, his voice husky.

"We could be here till breakfast."

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day." Peter kisses his way to Roman's neck, and he lingers here while his hand works the button of Roman's pants.

Roman stretches his neck to allow Peter better access. "And you _are_ a growing boy."

"So are you," teases Peter, giving Roman's cock a playful squeeze.

"Grow me, baby," Roman says with a most uncharacteristic giggle.

Peter cringes and then laughs. Seeing Roman's frosty demeanor melt for even a few minutes is too precious to resist. Peter makes his way down Roman's long body. With Roman's knees dangling off the edge, Peter climbs off the table and puts his hands on either side of Roman's waist.

Roman hooks his feet around Peter’s waist and pulls him nearer.

With a grin, Peter falls forward so that his face is inches from Roman's cock. With one hand he frees it from the confines of Roman's tight pants, and placing his palm back onto the smooth surface of the table, takes a swipe at Roman with his tongue.

"This is the best thing that's ever happened at this table."

Peter turns his eyes to Roman's face. "It's about to get better," he says, before taking Roman into his mouth.

"Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?"

Peter slides his lips up the length of Roman's swollen cock and off, taking a moment to answer. "You doubt me?" Then he takes Roman in again.

Roman hums lightly under his breath, gripping the edge of the table to keep himself still while Peter does his magic.

With Roman's needs now in his care, Peter begins moving up and down the length of Roman's substantial heat, trying his best to take his time. Roman's scent, his taste, tease Peter's senses, and he soon becomes fully aroused. The thought of Roman taking him against this elegant table makes his cock twitch eagerly.

Peter's very talented with his tongue, his lips. And he's beautiful, even with his messy hair. Maybe even because of it. It reminds Roman of the wild thing he becomes, the dangerous creature that lurks just below the surface.

Just moments ago Peter was sated by the sumptuous feast Roman had offered him, but now Peter is hungry for more. He quickens his pace, bringing a hand up to fondle Roman's balls.

Roman lets go of the table, and reaches for Peter's head instead, following his friend's movements as his pleasure builds and builds.

Peter opens his throat and takes Roman in as deeply as he can, imagining that engorged cock buried deep inside him.

Roman brings one hand to his mouth to stifle the roar that's rising in his throat. He bites down on his knuckles, trying to hold back, but it's too much and he comes, explosively.

Keeping gentle pressure on Roman's hips, Peter waits until Roman's tremors subsides, then slowly slides his lips off Roman's cock, and, with a grin, swallows. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and leans against the table. "Did you like your dessert?" he asks slyly.

"Dessert? That was more like an appetizer. An amuse-bouche."

"A what?" Peter cocks his head.

"It's a little treat they give you in fancy restaurants. But I was wrong. There was nothing small about that. That was an _epic_ blowjob."

Peter glances down at Roman's crotch. "Nothing small about that," he repeats.

Roman smiles. "Only one thing small around here. Now get your cute little ass back up here."

Peter closes the gap with a kiss. It's going to take Roman a few minutes to recover, so in the meantime they might as well enjoy it.

Roman is so relaxed right now that he doesn't feel the hard table beneath him. He leans into the kiss, tasting wine and chocolate sauce and his own essence.

Peter begins to grind against Roman, his kisses becoming more intense.

Peter's kisses are sweet and sexy all at once. Roman feels a stirring in his groin and knows he'll be ready to go again, soon.

Rolling onto his side, Peter gazes into Roman's eyes. He doesn't speak, he just takes in the sight of the polished, wealthy, intelligent Roman Godfrey lying next to him on this table.

"What?" Roman asks, with a smile.

"Nothing," says Peter quietly, touching Roman's lips lightly. "You're fucking beautiful."

Normally, Roman would make a snarky comment in reply to something like this, but Peter's sincerity is so clear. And Roman knows how difficult he would find it to put himself out there like that; he just returns Peter's kiss gently.

With a sigh, Peter says, "If this was dinner, I can't imagine what breakfast will be like."

"Never mind breakfast—how about a midnight snack?"

"You sure you're . . . up for it?"

"You have no idea how hot you are, do you?"

Peter rolls his eyes and looks up at the ceiling, suppressing a smile. "Are you gonna fuck me or what?"

Roman rolls on top of Peter. "What do you think?"

Glancing down between their bodies Peter slips his thigh between Roman's legs and begins to rub. "I think you're getting there."

"I think I'm there." Roman tries to work on Peter's clothes, but since Peter's pinned beneath him, he's not very successful.

Using his feet, Peter manages to kick off his shoes. While he kisses Roman he works his pants over his hips and down, and with a sigh frees his cock.

"So talented," Roman murmurs against Peter's lips. "You got any condoms in those pants?"

"Why don't you check them and see for yourself," replies Peter coyly.

Roman rolls off Peter and jumps lightly down from the table. He slides Peter's pants the rest of the way off, then rifles the pockets, coming up with not one but three condoms. "Expecting a lot of action, are you?"

Peter folds his hands behind his head and through half-lidded eyes, replies, "I'm seventeen, Roman. What do you think?"

"I admire your preparedness?" Roman rejoins Peter and drops the condoms between them. He reaches for Peter's jutting erection. "I also admire . . . other things."

Peter's back arches as Roman's hand encircles his cock. "Well, I fucking love your hands."

"I fucking love . . ." You? Roman hesitates. "Your cock."

The pause doesn't go unnoticed, but Peter decides to let it slide. He's not ready to go there yet. "I fucking love your cock inside me, so what are you waiting for?"

"I was waiting for you to start begging," Roman says, grinning and opening one of the condoms. "I guess that was close enough."

"Rumanceks don't beg, Godfrey," says Peter, bending a knee.

"Whatever you need to tell yourself." Roman rolls on the condom and turns back to Peter.

Peter reaches up, his back lifting off the table, and grabs the side of Roman's neck, pulling him down. "What I _need_ ," Peter says, fighting the urgency spreading in his groin, "is for you to fuck me with that sweet cock of yours."

"Well, when you put it like that . . ." Roman wets his fingers in his own mouth, then reaches down and presses them into Peter's waiting opening, working out the tightness.

Peter groans as Roman's long fingers enter him. His hands caress Roman's lean, pale chest, his thumbs making lazy circles around Roman's tight peaks.

Roman can't wait anymore and he replaces his fingers with his throbbing cock and plunges into Peter.

With a loud grunt, Peter wraps his legs around Roman, pulling him in tightly, urging him in deeper. "That's it, baby, like that," he murmurs encouragingly.

It feels so good, being buried deep within Peter. Roman leans in and places light kisses on Peter's throat as he begins to thrust, slowly.

Peter slips one hand in Roman's silky hair and tugs gently with each thrust. The hard table beneath him only adds to the sensations he's experiencing.

It's almost dreamlike, this slow, sensual movement. For all his joking, Roman feels closer to Peter than he can admit, and there is tenderness mixed with his passion.

The light sheen of sweat coating Roman's face makes his skin almost glow. Peter gazes with wonder at the beauty of the boy above him, still not quite understanding how they got here, how they can fit so well. But they do. Peter has never felt so connected to someone.

Roman slides his arms under Peter to gather him closer and leans in to claim his lips.

Peter moans into the kiss and begins rocking, urging Roman in deeper, needing to be filled.

Peter's eagerness turns Roman on even more and he responds with deeper, more powerful thrusts.

"Harder," Peter whispers, his face barely an inch from Roman's.

Not one to question good fortune, Roman complies.

Peter grunts with every thrust, matching Roman's rhythm as his climax builds.

Peter is so open, so unselfconscious in his responses, which just makes Roman want him more. He pulls back to watch Peter's flushed face as he thrusts harder.

Peter locks eyes with Roman, and his hands find Roman's chest. He can feel his friend's heartbeat, and that alone sends him over. Arching his back he cries out, his body shuddering with release as he comes.

Roman cradles Peter as he explodes, one hand reaching to keep his head from banging against the hard wood of the table. Only when Peter starts to come down does Roman allow himself to come as well.

Sweat trickling down Peter’s forehead, his body goes slack as he watches Roman climax. Peter thought Roman was beautiful in his normal life, but now, in the afterglow, Peter's breath catches at the beauty on top of him, holding him.

"I love dessert," Roman says with a lazy, sated smile.

"Best part of a meal," Peter replies, nipping lightly at Roman's ear.

Roman climbs off Peter and settles next to him. They look at each other then start to laugh comfortably.

Upstairs, Shelley smiles and taps at her computer. _Mother would die if she knew what happened in her dining room_ — _on her very dining_ table _tonight. But I am delighted. Peter is good for my brother, and my brother is good for Peter. I feel strangely protective of them and will do my utmost to protect their secret._

_S.G._


End file.
